When my gaze landed on the star quarterback, front and center in the mass of the elegantly dressed bodies, I realized everything I’d previously thought about the rest of the guests didn’t apply to him. Not a single bit.
Like his wife, Colin Cassidy radiated charisma, and people naturally flocked to him. His pearly-white smile was friendly and unpretentious, and in the few minutes I’d spoken with him, I instantly understood the draw. He made you feel like he was genuinely interested in what you had to say, even if it was menial small-talk, and though I was most definitely a heterosexual, female-loving man, there was no denying his conventional good looks.
My attention shifted to the people directly around him. On his right stood a couple who I guessed was in their fifties, and straightaway, I pegged them as his parents based solely on the physical resemblance between him and the older man. The woman, who reminded me a lot of one of my favorite elementary school teachers, had her arm hooked around Colin’s, and her face glowed with pride each time she glanced up at him. That look was most definitely one belonging to a mom.
On the other side of Colin was a guy and a girl who appeared to be around the same age as Colin, in their early-to-mid-twenties, and by his obvious level of comfort and familiarity with them both, they were all clearly close to one another. My initial thought was that they were his siblings, but after a few moments of scrutinizing them, I wasn’t so sure. The young woman was petite, maybe five feet and a hundred pounds, and though her tiny nose and brown eyes were a bit mousy, she was undoubtedly attractive. Straight, platinum blonde hair, which I doubted was her natural color, fell down her back, nearly reaching her waist, and despite donning small features everywhere else on her body, the plunging neckline on her ruby red dress proved that her full breasts were the one exception. The guy, on the other hand, was of average height and build, much like myself. He had matching brown hair and eyes and a clean-shaven baby-face, and whereas I would’ve said he was a decent-looking guy, handsome even, he definitely didn’t demand attention like the two people he was standing nearest to.
Just as I began to study the younger couple’s body language, attempting to determine whether their relationship was romantic or platonic in nature, the entire room broke out into a deafening applause, yanking my focus away from the people-watching and back up to the podium, where a teary-eyed Allison backed away from the microphone and a poised Monroe approached.
God, she is stunning.
Thankfully, every eye in the room was fixed on her so I could openly stare without it being weird, even if they were all looking at her front and my view was from the back . . . and an unbelievably stimulating view it was. I felt sorry for any of the men she would be hiring to work in the house with her on a daily basis, wondering how any of them would be able to keep their focus on the task at hand for long. Unless, perhaps, they were gay, and even then, I’m not sure they’d be able to resist her allure.
“Thank you all so much for that warm welcome,” Monroe addressed the crowd with her melodic voice. Even though I couldn’t see her face, I could hear the smile in her tone. “And thank you again to Allison Northcutt for not only having the dream, but the desire and dedication to conceive and create the incredible, life-changing organization, Mending Hearts.”
Everyone began to clap again, and once the noise level died off, she picked up where she left off.
“Leading up to this night, I spent more hours than I’d like to admit preparing for this speech. I threw away notecard after notecard, continually failing to find the right combination of words to reach each and every one of you in a way that would properly convey the significance of what all of us on this stage are striving to do, one city at a time. And then one night last week, well after I should’ve been in bed, my husband Colin,” a brief pause as she nods her head in his direction, “walked into my office and asked me what was keeping me up so late. After I explained my dilemma to him, he didn’t say a single word, but he walked over to my bookcase and grabbed a photo album off one of the shelves. Dropping the heavy book on my desk, he opened the front cover to reveal pages and pages of the kids I had met and worked with during the four years of my undergrad at the Mending Hearts house in Detroit. Tears sprang to my eyes immediately at the photos of those smart, bright, loving children, and the sense of overwhelming joy that flooded my body reminded me of how I could reach each of you.”
As she spoke the final few words of the last sentence, a screen dropped down from the ceiling off to the side of the platform where no one was positioned, and within moments, a giant collage of twenty-five different children’s images appeared. Several murmurs could be heard amongst the large group, and at first, I was a little confused, thinking the pictures were the ones she was talking about in her story.
But I was wrong.
And she was a genius.
“All of the photos you see here,” she turned her head to face the oversized screen just as the collage disappeared and another one took its place, “are loved by people in this room. Sons, daughters, grandkids, nieces, and nephews. These kids are the lights of your lives, the ones you’d give anything for.”
The quiet whispers became a low buzz, numerous people smiling and pointing at pictures as they recognized faces.
Monroe shifted her attention back to the audience as she drove her point home. “Now imagine someone physically or sexually abusing your little loved one, and think about how you would feel. The rage. The disgust. How you’d want to help them. How you’d want to punish whoever was responsible. Think of the lengths you’d go to do whatever you could to help.” Waiting for her words to sink in, she waited a couple of seconds before continuing, “That’s what we do at Mending Hearts, for the kids who either don’t have anyone to stand up for them, or for those who are too afraid of the offender to tell anyone else. We help them heal. We work closely with law enforcement agencies to obtain justice in their name. And we teach them to be survivors. Not victims.”
Like a famous orator, she commanded the room with ease. Every person within earshot, event staff included, hung on her every word, utterly enthralled by her message. Hell, I knew everything one could possibly know about the organization—for Christ’s sake, I had lived at the Chicago house for over eighteen months before Jeff and Tracie came along—and I was spellbound, ready to donate money for the cause.
After Monroe concluded the speech, letting everyone know how they could follow the progress of the new Boston chapter online and announcing the tentative grand opening for the following February, which was only a little over five months away, she stepped off the stage and was instantly swallowed up by a swarm of bodies trying to get near and congratulate her. I wanted to be one of those people to tell her how she’d nailed her presentation and that I knew, without a doubt, she was going to be an amazing inspirational leader for the kids at her house. But instead, I watched from the background, not quite ready to tear my gaze away from her.
A few minutes passed, and I began to worry I was teetering between a random bystander who was just taking in what was going on around him, and a creepy lurker, so I turned around and stepped off the raised platform, moving toward the restrooms for a much-needed break. Thankfully, no one else was in the bathroom and once I emptied my bladder and scrubbed my hands, I splashed a little water on my face, hoping that would help wash away the trance Monroe Cassidy had put me under. And when that didn’t work, I pinched my eyebrows together, shaping my forehead into a stern V, and asked aloud, “What in the hell is your problem, Sax? Get a fucking grip.”
The door swung open, and two exceptionally large men—who I could only assume were linemen by their lack of necks—entered the washroom, both nodding a silent acknowledgement in my direction before moving to the urinals. Taking that as my cue that my pep-talk was over, I dried my hands with a paper towel and wasn’t surprised in the least when I missed the two-foot shot into the trashcan as I walked out. Mortified at my lack of hand-eye coordination, I hastily picked up the wadded paper ball,
disposed of it, and barreled through the door, not bothering to look back and see if the other men had witnessed my fail.
As I emerged back into the main space, I avoided the throng of people still gathered around Monroe and Colin, and strode across the room to the less-crowded lounge, sidling up to the bar for a much-needed drink. A strong one. The bartender promptly poured four fingers of his finest scotch into a highball glass and I shoved a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar before blowing out a deep breath. Looking around the secluded area, I noticed the young couple, who I’d been studying while they stood next to Colin earlier, were only a few feet away from me. They appeared to be in a heated argument, based on their body language and the scowl on her face. I twisted my body so it appeared I was looking out at the people in the ballroom, but I could still see them easily off to the side.
Though his back was turned to me and I couldn’t see if his expression matched hers, there was no denying the irritation in his voice when I heard him say, “I can’t believe you’re leaving! You’re so fucking immature and selfish when it comes to this shit, Effie. If you’re not the center of attention, you’re not interested.”
“That’s not true, Seth! I’ve always supported you and Colin! I went to every single one of his games when we were growing up, and all of your . . .” The young blonde huffed, throwing her hands on her hips and pushing her exposed chest out.
“All of my what?” he demanded, matching her combative stance. “My debate club matches when we were in school? Never. My rowing meets? Only when Mom and Dad made you go, and even then, you spent the entire time flirting with the other guys on my team. And God forbid I ever bother you to come to one of my boring choir performances. You may be surprised to learn that your only sibling is actually pretty damn good at something too, not just the next-door neighbor that you’ve had a ridiculous crush on since you were in diapers.”
She glared at him, but didn’t deny his allegation, so he continued, “Shocking, I know, but the world doesn’t revolve around you, princess. It’s time to wake up and face reality; if he wanted to be with you, it would’ve happened a long time ago. He’s married and he’s happy. And if you want to continue to be a part of his life, you need to realize what that part is—it’s his friend. It’s the sweet little sister he never had, though I’m tempted to tell him you suck at that role.”
“You wouldn’t!” Her dark eyes grew wide with shock and filled with tears. “Seth, please . . .”
The young man fell for her theatrics and stepped toward her and pulled her into a hug, shaking his head. “No, of course, I wouldn’t,” he replied much softer, “but you’ve gotta stop this shit, Eff. It’s not worth losing him completely. He’ll always pick her.”
She sniffled and nodded then stepped back out of his embrace, plastering a fake smile on her face. “You’re right, smarty pants. I guess that’s why you got the big brains and I got the good looks,” she teased in a blatant attempt to distract and deter. “I’ll stay a little while longer, but I’m still gonna go meet some of my friends at King Street Tavern in a bit.”
“Sounds good. Now let’s go rejoin everyone before Colin sends out a search party for us.”
The two of them sauntered away, so caught up in whatever the hell that was all about that neither of them ever once looked in my direction. A little overwhelmed by the entire night, I picked up my glass, took a sip of the chest-warming amber liquid, and moved away from the bar and over to a vacant spot by the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned across an entire wall.
Peering out into the Boston night skyline, I couldn’t help but be impressed, and for a few moments, I forgot all about the scene taking place behind me. The brilliant city lights dimmed gradually until they disappeared altogether into the black water of the Massachusetts Bay. The view from that high up was like nothing I’d ever seen before, and internally, I vowed to myself to begin visiting more places.
Prior to completing graduate school seven years ago, the only state I’d been in, other than Illinois, was Missouri, as I was born and raised miles inside the shared state borders. Even after earning my doctorate, I’d thrown myself into my work and music in Chicago, never taking the time to travel too far away from my adult home. But after spending only two days in Boston, I was ready to see more. More of Boston. More of the country. More of the world.
“So what do you think?” Allison’s voice startled me, as I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even notice her slip up next to me.
I greeted her with a friendly smile then returned my focus to the scenery. “Breathtakingly beautiful.”
Snickering under her breath, she nudged my arm with her shoulder. “I know what you thought of Monroe. I was asking your opinion of Boston.”
“You think you’re a lot funnier than you really are,” I teased, pausing to bring the glass of Glenlivet up to my mouth and swallowing back a healthy portion before finishing my thought. “But I’ve found them both to be quite remarkable, thank you very much. She’s going to do great things here. The people adore her.”
“That they do. It’s hard not to,” she agreed with an emphatic nod. “And you’re right, she’s got the drive, the determination, and the resources to do whatever she sets her heart and mind to. I just feel blessed that she found her calling with us at Mending Hearts.”
I grumbled an “Indeed,” not knowing what else to say as I reached up and tugged on the shirt collar that seemed to suddenly shrink. Talking about the woman I’d spent most of the evening gawking at like a teenaged-boy with his first nudie magazine made me uncomfortable. I wanted to change the subject, but before I could think of a different topic, Allison began speaking again. “Can you meet me at the hotel restaurant for lunch tomorrow? Say 12:30? I have an offer to make you that I’m hoping you’ll be interested in.”
“An offer?” The mystery in her voice piqued my interest and I quirked my eyebrow up with cat-killing curiosity.
“Tomorrow.” Then she disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared, and I was left pondering and speculating a million different ideas without having much clue about what I was trying to figure out. I slipped out of the gala shortly after that, forgoing Allison’s ridiculous suggestion earlier in the night that I take part in the dancing portion of the event. All I wanted was to get back to my hotel room, take a shower, and go to sleep, so the next morning would arrive as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately, as I tossed and turned for hours upon hours in the dark of the night, held captive by my out-of-control racing thoughts that didn’t have an off-switch, I finally turned the television on and began surfing through the channels. Passing over infomercials, news channels, and a rerun of Law & Order that I’d previously seen, I landed on the American Movie Classics channel and my entire body froze, the remote control sliding out of my rigid hands onto the mattress. Plain as day, smack dab in front of me, Danny Zuko and Sandy D. were dancing their way across the carnival and my hotel television screen, singing ‘You’re the One That I Want’ as I watched in awe. What were the fucking odds?
The last thing I remembered before falling asleep with a stupid-ass smile on my face was picturing Monroe in a pair of skintight, black leather pants with red kitten heels, singing the Grease soundtrack to me. It was a good thing I didn’t have to face her again before I went back home.
“The problem with love
these days is that society
has taught the human
race to stare at people
with their eyes rather
than their souls.”
–Christopher Poindexter
Monroe
THE SCREECHING ALARM clock mocked me from across my bedroom. The bright red numbers on the display read 6:30, but I swore it lied. There was no way it could already be time to get up; I’d just laid my head on the pillow five minutes before. At least that’s what it felt like.
The night at the gala had run late. Real late. With Colin and Allison by my side, the three of us stayed until the very last guest had left
, thanking everyone for coming out and showing their support. Encouraging words accompanied by checks with multiple zeroes made every excruciating moment of balancing in those deathtraps called stilettos worth it. The early tally of donations before we left totaled close to twelve million dollars—more than enough to purchase a property for the location of the Mending Hearts’ home, as well as cover a couple years of operating expenses. I’d already narrowed down the final selection to two locations, both well within the budget. It was all I’d hoped for and so much more, and I was over-the-moon ecstatic when I’d gotten home, but thoroughly exhausted.
Rolling off of my way-too-comfy, pillow-top mattress, I slugged across the room and slammed my hand down to stop the maddening noise. I’d purposely set the alarm up on the dresser instead of the nightstand so I’d be forced to actually get out of bed to turn it off, preventing me from hitting the snooze button multiple times while staying warm and cozy under the sheets. I’d discovered that method worked best when I was in boarding school, when there was no one else around to ensure I was up and at class on time. There was a switch in my head that flipped when I was up and on my feet, demanding I stay up for good. And although I yawned and stared longingly at the jumbled-up covers calling out to me to rejoin them for a few more hours, I slipped on a black sports bra and matching yoga pants, brushed my teeth, put my hair in a ponytail, and then headed downstairs to the state-of-the-art home gym in the basement of our recently-renovated Beacon Hill residence. I was begrudgingly ready to start the day.
My workout proved to be more of a struggle than it usually was. I was panting like a dog on a hot summer day and pouring sweat before I even finished the fifteen-minute warm up on the elliptical. I openly cursed myself for the fourth glass of wine I had the previous night. I knew when I accepted it that I’d pay the price, yet that thought didn’t make me feel any better as I could actually smell the Sauvignon Blanc in my perspiration.